


You Touch The Way, I Want To Be Touched

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [12]
Category: Duran Duran, John Taylor - Fandom
Genre: 9 1/2 Weeks - Freeform, Alcohol, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Cocaine, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Food Kink, Food Porn, Hair Pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Manhandling, Parody, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Restraints, Roughness, Scene Selection, Solo Debut, Tease and Release, Theatre, cum facial, film premier, getting frisky, men kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29261847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: They both knew precisely which sleazy scene they wanted to recreate. With an empty stomach and fridge full to the brim: John was already tingling with excitement. Wet, with anticipation.
Relationships: Simon Le Bon/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573288
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bird Of Paradise, You’re Why We’ll Do It Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786648) by [Pink_and_Velvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet). 



> To celebrate the 35th anniversary of both the 9 1/2 Weeks premier and John’s solo single ‘I Do What I Do’, enjoy an adapted version of these Hold Tight scenes from that very premier. And every teasing, horny, moment after. 🖤🤯
> 
> Happy Valentines Day, if you celebrate that sort of thing. I don’t.

_**9 1/2 Weeks** Premier,_

_February 14th 1986, New York._

Submerged in the murky black, no one had caught the singer’s wayward fingers, how John’s own had dipped low and wandered off even further, inching closer and closer to his sacred destination. The sound of the well-known, sure to never be iconic, moans and cries flooded the auditorium. If it wasn’t silent before, now only John’s shaky breaths could be heard. Now it was silent.

This was it, his glorified debut.

Simon’s eyes were plastered to the screen, John wanted to laugh but found that he couldn’t. There was something oddly endearing about that, John smiled as the thought ran through him.

_Are you happy now, Charley._ _I did what I did?_

In a scene that irritated John to no end, he honestly had no clue why they chose to use his demo here, he watched John and Elizabeth frolic in the rain having beaten off the thugs that called them faggots. Or something of that nature. The film made zero sense.

Things were getting heated, Kim was burning up on screen. She was the token bimbo beauty, blonde and slim to be paraded about and demeaned. Kim was supposedly everything John (both of them, the bassist and Mickey Rourke’s horny BDSM guy) would want in a sexual object.

Her trousers were yanked off and she was thrown behind a wall. Thoroughly soaked, the Bass God’s moans punctuated each thrust, each groan, the track amplifying the tension as it became unbearable: Kim no, _Elizabeth,_ losing herself to her own, pitiful desire.

Simon’s baby blue eyes were screwed shut. John could just about make out the way he rocked, embracing the music. Simon was being tortured by John’s own moans and orgasmic screams, so forced that they both knew it to be utter bullshit. It wasn’t even the completed studio version; an early cut of mostly the female vocal by Lisa had been swiped by _MGM_. John was still fuming about that.

John hadn’t made any sounds resembling that heightened desire, eyes lolling back and toe curling pleasure in months. In those dreaded months kept away from Simon. Whether John was ready to admit it or not, surely that would all change tonight, right? They just had too. Simon needs to take care of him. He’s going slightly mad.  
  


***  
  


“So,” John began, rounding the corner of the street in search for their limo.

  
He kept his eyes off Simon and focused on the road, unsure if he really wanted to try and gauge his reaction to... whatever the fuck they had just witnessed. It was shockingly bad; John wasn’t going to shy away from that. 

“It’s utter trash, ain’t it?” He mumbled, finally catching wind of their chauffeur. “It’ll be a bloody miracle if it makes it nine and a half weeks in theatre, you know?”

John rattled off the address to the highest apartment building in the city, no matter the cost, he still prided himself in owning that slice of The Waldorf, and watched Simon’s delightful arse dive into the backseat. He stuttered somewhat, a little lost in those tight fitting trousers.

“Yeah, John. Your song is shockingly bad!” Simon began, nudging him with a chuckle. “How in the fuck did you let _that_ train wreck happen?! There are reasons why I shouldn’t let you out of my sight; you horny bastard.”

Simon was laughing himself hoarse, totally lost in the moment whereas John’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open. Now in the thick of a neon haze, bar within reach, John’s arm shot themselves forward and began rummaging for the whiskey he knew wouldn't be too hard to find.

“Charley! That wasn’t what I meant and you know it, shithead!” He was a little hurt, he couldn’t lie, calling back to Simon over his shoulder. “I meant… you know… about the track… fuck, erm...”

John grumbled a couple other things that went unheard, heading back to Simon who was perched amongst the plush in the back of the limousine. Instead, it became clear to him, that Simon was basking in the silence.

John admired how the blue tinted Simon’s skin, how his features were defined from one angle and highlighted from another. It dawned on him, the similarities between the way the light waltzed it’s way across Simon and how John himself had tangoed with the deep sapphire back on the video set. How, he prayed, the lights had worked wonders for him the way they were with Simon right now.

“Oh.” Simon deflated, John was struck with guilt.

“Yeah, I... I was talkin’ about the film.”

“... I wasn’t.”

“No shit.” It was awkward, John focused his attention to pouring two shot glasses. “Oh, you mother fu—”  
  


His curse was ripped from his lips, swallowed by Simon. The kiss was growing in intensity. Simon was predatory, feral, nipping at John’s bottom lip and demanding entrance. The bassist’s brain turned to mush, resulting to autopilot, letting Simon the fuck in. 

The glasses dropped to the floor, tumblers smashing by his feet. John broke away with a yelp, kicking the glass to one side.

Simon’s lips were back on his, determined to suck him dry. John could barely breathe, failing to meet Simon’s rhythm to lose himself in the singer’s lustful heat. He couldn’t feel a thing; he could only let Simon guide him, taunting him with his teasing fingers, ripping seam after seam.

“Please,” He desperately whined, clumsy hands in Simon’s hair, “Charley, _please_.”

Deft fingers gnawed at the fabric of John’s silken trousers, snaking out his belt and yanking at his zip. John was palmed, gasping, hips jerking upwards into the light touch. Desperate for more, deluded in thinking that this was enough.

The touches became rougher, the ministrations calculated yet mind blowing. John keened, thrusting upwards, inwardly begging for Simon’s fingers to slip under the final restraint and tear them away from John’s aching body.

“ _Fuck_ ,” His voice was scratchy, eyes coated in pure lust, “ _Please_ , Char-ugh!”

Those naughty digits had slipped under the fabric; John’s half hard cock springing free. He groaned, lolling his head back, as he was pumped to life. Resurrected. Falling victim to his aching want. He let out a string of moans as the juices began to flow, a harsh swear as they were rubbed back into his skin; deep into the slit, running up his shaft. 

His bottom lip was trembling, his adorable overbite exposed as delectable hisses and delicious pleas fell from John’s lips. He couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move his hands. They stayed rooted by his sides as the speed increased; the friction and his pulse growing harder to ignore. Pleased sighs were dropped around him, telling him he was a ‘good boy’ and deserved what he would get. And then they were kissing again. John threatened to end it, sending them both into a frenzy by moaning into that open mouth and shoving the name of what they were doing down that ready throat.

He whimpered, whined, bucking wild and out of sync. Mind stuttering, head ready to shatter, John broke free to groan himself hoarse. He thrusted a final time before the pleasure crashed over him; he was shivering violently as he tried to drag out the release, pitifully thrusting into his own mess. John was blinded by it, gaze glassy as finally the grip on him fell away, tucked him back in and perched at his side.

John was a _mess._ A moaning, quivering mess. Caught up in it all, the highs and sudden rush, he found this energy to be intoxicating and he knew, pulling off his shirt to pray, that this wouldn’t be it.

Together, he and Simon, had plenty in store for tonight. A single, shared glance said it all, they both knew precisely which scene they wanted to recreate. With an empty stomach and fridge full to the brim: John was already tingling with excitement. Wet, with anticipation.


	2. Chapter 2

Nearing 2am: a shivering, quaking in anticipation, John rose to his knees. They were bare, bruised, he wore white boxers and his shirt was unbuttoned. It hung loose, sleeves rolled to showcase the light muscle he now has on his arms. A single vein popped out, twisting when he did.

He was crowded, made to feel small, but taken care of. A swift hand caught his hair, brushing it from his eyes. Another deft motion and he bid farewell to his sight, blinded by white. He hissed as the fabric was tightened around him, groaned as those hands began trailing round to his heated cheeks. They were searching for his lips, demanding entrance and to be sucked. John’s beautiful mouth dropped open, amplified with a moan, as he took a single digit in to relish in the feel; the familiarity.

Content with his trust, he was helped to his feet. He was told to keep his hands behind his back, so he did. John let himself be guided, heading throughout his penthouse with cautious and shaky steps. The tiles were frozen, every step he took sent a shiver through him, knowing he was getting closer and closer.

The somber yet stimulating tones of his instrumental track _Dance For Freedom_ began playing in his mind. A track in which he had envisioned suiting this sort of scene perfectly; something soothing for John to cling too. A melody of reassurance, of some sort. The snare crashed and his pulse ran hotter, he was creeping closer and closer.

He was told to stop. To crouch. John followed the order, clinging to the gruff in that usually silken voice. It had dropped in tone, screaming a dominance that thankfully wasn’t in a patronising way. Unlike in the film, John was content here: he knew that he would be taken care of in the right ways. There were plausible reasons for his supposed suffering and besides, he liked it a little rough.

Suddenly he shivered, running his hands up his arms and fingering at the cotton. He knew where they were, what had just been opened behind him. John tried to steady his breathing, remember how to engulf and release the air without choking as he heard a small clatter. A small commotion. Things were being laid out before him, he was forbidden to touch, and shunned to sit on his hands.

He could only use them when told too.

They say when you’re stripped of a sense, your others heighten to try and fill that missing void. John’s sense of taste would prove his saviour here, if smell became the enemy.

Upon hearing those stern words, his mouth dropped open with a small giggle. The scene in the film had that comedic element somewhat, although John wasn’t sure which tone of voice he could be playing with here: that decision wasn’t up to him. It was still a _game,_ though. A game he wasn’t supposed to win.

Something small, a grape, was dropped onto his tongue. He bit at it, with a sigh, then swallowed it while being sure to stick out his tongue as proof. There was a pleased little hum before him; John shivered at his muted praise.

Another clang, plates this time, and John sat there, stock still: hands bound and mouth agape. Ready to take whatever he was given. Only his pants could be heard; the small shaky rises and falls of chest. Looking the way, he wanted to look.

Another item was stuffed into his mouth. He winced.

Something long and hard. He coughed.

Something small and sweet, two of them, then three. He gagged.

_Strawberries;_ he knew they were coming. John bared his tongue, whilst the tip of the fruit was placed onto, then massaged into his welcome warmth. He couldn’t help himself, a pleased moan escaped. He wasn’t punished for it, so he decided to chance another. His tongue lapped over the fruit, licking it from root to tip, round and round. He giggled, coughed, and again he opened wide.

He could feel the rise, in temperature and in desire. His underwear was suffocating, stifling him in ways he had never known them too.

He was teased with fruit after fruit, skilled tongue running mercilessly over whatever he was given. John knew what was next; he braved himself to swallow it whole. He had seen the sleazy flick enough to know that this part was done with Elizabeth being able to see after her blindfold was removed. However John was sure, he wouldn’t be granted such a luxury.

His shirt was slipped from his shoulders, and his body tingled as the sudden rush of air proved too much for him. Goosebumps coating his skin, he groaned softly as he felt the familiar heat. The body heat was more than just the right intensity, he was being fried alive. A victim to his own selfish desire.

Something small and round; John winced at the taste. It was sharp, the olive, he tried desperately to spit back what he needed too. He giggled slightly, before swallowing the rest whole. A familiar prick down south, John groaned upwards as he thrusted. Desperate for any friction.

Being touched the way, he wanted to be touched, John was shifted so he was now resting on his heels, hands planted on his thighs. His eyes flickered, twitched under the restraint, desperate to know what was coming next.

Something cracked, he shivered as a cool sticky thing ran down his stomach. It smelt awful, John knew exactly what it was. The egg yoke was being massaged into his bulging stomach.

He was pelted with juices, a mixture of fresh berries coated his soaked skin. 

A hand caressed his face, sending sparks through him that were ruthless: he was more than happy now, he did what he did. The fingers rounded down, skirting over his nude chest and the sweat that pooled there. Then back up, yanking apart his lips. He tipped his head back, being pelted by a liquid. It was thick, running down his chin and dropping atop his thigh. He swallowed as much as he could, cool glass making him squirm. He shifted, tapping irritably as he swallowed and spat it back out. He fought the glass down and John felt his stomach churn; he should never down milk that fast.

An endless round of fruit, vegetables, meat and milk later; John was near covered in fluids. His slick mouth was trembling, he was being blinded by the warmth in his stomach and the quake of himself. He was standing proud, the pain now bordering on unbearable; his member brushing maddeningly against the soft fabric. He wanted nothing more that to palm himself, his hands were so damn close to it but knew that if he stepped out of line: he would be suffering the wrath.

The cucumber was perhaps the hardest. John sucked and gagged, giving all that he could. His tongue darted out, trailing its way up and down the ribbed length. He bit at it, hard and forceful, gnawing away piece by piece.

John yelped as he felt something smaller, in girth, yet still long enter him. This moved, had a mind of its own, scraping its way down John’s throat. John took it, sucking desperately, before taking in another. And another. He was whining with it, erection bordering on mind shattering, as he continued to pump his tongue around the intrusion.

With a grunt, they were swiftly removed. John tried, failing miserably, to brace himself for the next intruder. Something told him, that this was where they would get a little off script. It wasn’t his time to shine anymore.

He cried out, enraged by the straining fabric shielding his eyes and it was wreaking havoc down below. Without warning, he rose up even higher off of his knees and swallowed all that he could. He sucked hard and fast, teeth nipping at the silk he engulfed. It was moving, pumping into John in time with his own wild licks. He stalled for a brief huff of air, before slamming his lips back down onto it. Head bobbing, small wet sounds dropping, John sucked harder than anything he had ever taken in his life.

He was trembling, the sudden rush was burning his throat and dribbling onto his tongue. He pulled off and quickly spat, before returning to it, circling the intruder and running his way up and down it.

John yelped, there were hands in his hair, tugging him every which way. He coughed, struggling to breathe, being violently penetrated as— _fuck!_ John gagged, taking it all. The liquid burned hot on his tongue, trickling down his throat and his chin; landing above his now soaked boxers. The ringing in his ears was blearing, he was quivering all over, screaming although no sound came out. He was numb, lost wallowing in sensation: desperate to drag it out.

The intruder pulled away and sent John crashing to the floor. He struggled, fingernails clawing at slick tile, shooting straight down. He caught a hold of himself and pumped the last of his pitiful release; his scream was shrill as his hand was coated white.

He’s so happy now, he did what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I really feel that my best porn scenes have all been written for and posted throughout Hold Tight, that they often are missed. Simply because it’s not a known fact that they are buried within my saga.
> 
> So it’s nice to have this one a little more out there. I hope you’re happy now, you read it!


End file.
